Powers That Be
by TombRomance
Summary: Being the son of vampires, was a set up for an interesting life, but more importantly an interesting death. Kidnapped by an unknown group, Connor is subject to many things, will his father find him in time? Rated M for violence... Warning character Death.


This was a requested by: Professor SEELE 15.

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Midnight was nearing quickly, the warm evening breeze lapping against Connors already over heated flesh. It wasn't a good night, his informant still unable to give him the information he sought, and yet it wasn't a terrible night either. The crisp air drifted from the west, brining in the salty breeze of the ocean, something he'd missed going to for a long while. At least since regaining his memories of who he truly was. Sounds of waves crashing against land had a calming effect, something no doctor or magic user could induce, and yet the small radio which mimicked the sound didn't work for him. Long nights of fighting off the evil beings in the world, kept him from sleep, and was the reason he was strolling down the streets.

Others walked around, chatting with those they knew or ducking their heads so that no one would approach them, whilst he radiated pure aggression. He needed answers, and he would prefer them sooner rather than later. In the distance a small group of four followed, making sure to stay hidden in the shadows from above. They too had intensions normal humans wouldn't understand, at least not completely. Revenge, the type of revenge that would lead to violence and potentially death. The female in the group nodded, sending the others in different directions. If this was going to happen, it was going to have to happen now, when his friends weren't there to aid him.

"Sir," The woman called out, jogging towards Connor in her dainty heels. "You dropped this."

It was too simple, Connor turned curious as to what he could have possible dropped. When leaving his home, he only had a jacket and maybe his wallet…. He didn't pay too close attention to what he had, earlier that evening. With his back to the shadows, he was gripped by two men, and before anything else could be said, the third male hit him across the back of the head. Connor groaned, as darkness consumed his vision, what was happening? He wondered, just before everything turned into a gentle hum.

Groans echoed from the walls, it was painfully obvious he was waking up from his boot induced slumber. The armor-plated woman paced in front of the door, head cocked as if she was unsure what to do. He would be up any moment, and the panicked thoughts of any captive would instantly flood his mind. Where am I? Who took me? And the one she found most amusing, I must get out of here. Many have tried escaping the will based magic of the caldron he stood over, none have ever succeeded. The only true question that sank uncomfortably between them, would his response be the same?

Pain reverberated through the back of Connor's head. The feeling of pots and pans slamming against each other during a painful hangover jolted him awake. He hadn't drunk the night before, in fact, he clearly remembered he was on his way home after an interesting night out with his informant. Not something that usually should end with a hangover light headache. Connor opened his eyes, finally ready to see what his surroundings looked like. His chilling blue eyes met with the dark orbs of Skip? No, they may share the same armor-plated skin, but this person was shorter, thinner, curvier, and alive. A female of Skips race, that fact farther proven when her head cocked to the opposite side of her hips.

"Wh-where am I?" He asked, relatively calm to the circumstances.

"You are a guest, for Uncle Skip's memory." She purred, an amused grin touching her features.

"Uncle Skip?" confusing echoing from his lips. "Why?"

"Your father tore Skips armor off." Her voice hardening, as she stood straight. "Eye for an eye, and all that biblical crap." Her hand waved vaguely into the air, as if the scripter would come to her. "But demon style of coarse."

Silence enveloped the room, before a loud scream danced through the halls. The woman smiled, as her eyes danced to the caverns opening, the others would be coming any moment now. Her eyes met with Connors, almost if welcoming the chilling glower, he sent her. She stretched, pulling both her arms behind her back, before planting a firm back kick to his forehead. His reaction wasn't one she was used to, almost no fear and mostly crackles of rage dancing across his features. He would be an interesting pet to play with, depending on whether she was graced with the boy by the others.

"Time for night-night." Honey taking its place back into her voice.

It was almost another hour before Connor opened his eyes once again, this time the pain radiated from his left temple to the rest of his skull. His left eye remained closed, the trickle of warm blood impeding on the capability of opening it, as his right met with two figures. The young woman still sat in the chair in the corner, her voice wafting through the silence, the male nodded before glancing back to Connor. The room didn't seem beg enough to fit both metallic beings, desk, chair, **and** Connor's medium sized cauldron, but the two still could move about with little resistance.

"Don't kick me again," Connor groaned, shifting against the invisible binds keeping him standing. "How am I standing?"

"My will," The male retorted, sending the woman an off handed glance.

"Who are you?"

"We are demons," the girl purred, side stepping the male. "The Powers That Be turn their heads occasionally, because of that fact. Luckily for us, they've decided to do just that."

"You work for the Powers That Be?"

"Yes," The male intruded, stepping closer to the boy. "There was a necessary need or replacement, since Skip's death."

Connor's eye blinked, watching as the woman's fingers feathered over different instruments of pain. Panic clearly flashed across his features, the realization of what was going to happen finally hitting him. His mind jumped into overdrive, thinking of how to get away from the situation. A dark chuckle left the male, watching the interaction between the two young adults in the room. Originally Connor wasn't going to be handed off, this revenge was for Skip and Skip alone, but watching the two swayed the patriarch's thought process. What could be more perfect than acquiring his revenge without getting his hand dirty? Being able to truly plea his innocence, if the Powers That Be felt the need to punish Angel's son's attackers.

There was also the thought of being the person to punish the young woman who sat so neatly on the desk. Her metal plates pulled from the fleshy bits of her being, and forcing a burning hot poker against her. He dreamed of hearing her screams enveloping the silence, the stench her decaying flesh taking over his sense. The male sighed, shaking his mind clear of the thoughts, calling the attention of the others in the room.

"He's all yours." His voice was tight, almost lust filled, as he left the room.

A wicked smile touched the woman's features, her fingers already grasping a large metal spike and dropping it into a small coal fire. Her frenzied laughs bouncing from the walls, bringing the unsettling feeling of her excitement to fruition. For the most part she was quiet, as she pulled the tools from their assigned portion of the desk, only a happy hum touched his ears. Connor sighed, the chilling frost slowly making its way into the invisible cone surrounding him. Within moment's goosebumps took over his flesh and shivers vibrated his whole being. The woman smiled, glancing to the blue-eyed boy.

"Ice dungeons are often found in this region." She purred, dragging the end of her whip along his side.

His skin, over sensitive due to the cold, contracted against the unexpected warmth of the leather. Her eyes widened, revealing the dark brown of her eyes, as she circled him while keeping contact with the whip. Her teeth pulled at her metallic lip, drawing forward to get a good look at his bodies reaction to the freezing surroundings. Connor gasp uncomfortably, her subzero fingers suddenly touching his flesh just under his navel and playing the patch of hair leading bellow the loincloth. Wasn't he warm just a moment ago, he wondered, watching as she took a step back.

"I've always found humans fascinating." Her voice thickened with an unknow emotion. "Their unnecessary need for warmth. Their soft pliable flesh…" Her voice wavered wantonly. "It's almost as if the Powers That Be wanted it to end this way, humans bending at the will of Demons."

She snapped to wrist suddenly, causing the whip to cut through the flesh above his pelvic bone. Connor hissed, just barely feeling the pain through the numbness of the cold. The bindings keeping him in his place, as his body desperately pulled away from where the whip came from. Demented laughter left her lips, as she circled him once more. The shuffle of metal and a light thumping noise told him that she'd change her weapon of choice.

"Warmer yet?" She purred, lightly touching his back with the edge of a blade.

He almost didn't feel the puncture of the blade into his flesh, it wasn't until a slow rush of blood warmed to hypothermic flesh that he realized what happened. Her right index finger dipped into the wound, forcing a loud cry from Connor, as she dug farther into the heated cavern. A moan of surprised leaving her mouth, before she glided the blade in-between the flesh and muscle. More screams bounced off the walls as she continued flaying the flesh.

"Removing the skin from an animal is an art." She murmured, wiping her bloodied fingers into the dark shirt Connor was wearing earlier that evening. "One needs a steady hand and patience, to keep from tearing the flesh."

Connor gulped air, finally able to take in enough to fill his lungs. Beads of sweat trained down his hairline and mingled with the blood streaks down the broad of his shoulders. His abdomen caved in and pulsed out with every breath, the feeling of his whole body working overtime to get air consuming him. She watched, cocking her head to the side, as he mimicked having an asthma attack. It was her first time getting her hands dirty, watching the reactions to her handy work made her proud. She almost wished she had filmed this momentous occasion. She tossed the tee back onto the desk, standing to her full height. His shivering had stopped, and was replaced with the chattering of teeth, telling her he needed to warm up soon.

"How long do you estimate you'll keep me entertained?" She questioned, pulling the heated poker from the fire.

The metal glowed red-orange, telling her it was hot enough to both warm him and cauterize his flesh back together. Connor grunted, barely able to lift his head from the downwards hang it feel into. Fighting demons was one thing, but the feeling of your flesh being removed was another. Shocks of pain radiated from his back, it felt as through his flesh was burning off, forcing more screams of anguish from his frame. The dark eyed woman smiled, watching as the separated flesh fused together and tore from the spike. She rolled the molten metal refusing his skin, her thoughts wondering if the skin would also fuse back to his muscle.

"Your welcome." She purred, tearing the pole from his pack. "I thought you needed warmth."

"F-F-fuck you." Connor shouted, spit surging in his anger.

She chuckled, placing the metal back into the heated coals. "That's no way to speak to your ally." Her eyes meeting his as she 'tsked' his language. "I'm here to make you stronger."

Her cool finger brushed across his chest, chilling the overheated layers of flesh. Fascinate, she whispered at the burning feeling that licked her fingers. A wicked smile touched her lips, moments before they fluttered across his heated skin, parting every so often for her tongue. He tasted like salt and agony, and intoxicating mix for a demon. Her tongue darted over her lips lapping up the remnants of his taste. Sounds resembling purrs bubbled from her, as she made her way back to the desk.

"Which would you prefer?" she asked, looking over her shoulder to her captive. "Blade or Lash? I'm partial to both."

Shock touched Connors features, the feeling of his flesh bubbling and popping still fogging his mind. The woman waited patiently for his answer, resting her hip against the desk. She allowed the cold surroundings to touch his shoulder now melted into gnarled mess. One day she hoped to be as good as Skip when it came to torment, though she couldn't imagine getting tired of the screams of her victims. She dragged her finger across the blade of her Kukri, sparks flying from the touch.

"Would you like water?" she asked, standing once again.

Connor nodded wearily, hatred molded to his features as he watched her walk from the left side of the room to the right. A well nestled between the wall and the doorway. He imagined the water would be chilled, quenching both the heat and thirst of his body. As if reading his mind, the woman dipped the ladle into the water and dumped it over his back. His scream was long and blood curdling, as the water chilled the burn wound into a painful submission.

"Be thankful, though painful, the water soothed the burning sensation stopping any future pain." Her dark eyes softened momentarily, before hardening once more.

Another ladle of water touched his lips, waiting patiently for him to gulp down greedily. It would have been easier if he wasn't bound to her will, which kept him in place, but he downed whatever he could get. Her eyes flickered down his body, taking in the pail sweat converted flesh. It was time to continue. She tossed the ladle carelessly in the direction of the well, turning into her heels. Things weren't going to take too much longer; his body was ragged and his mind frayed. Better man hasn't lasted too much longer.

"Fine, the whip it is." Her voice played as if Connor had twisted her arm into the choice. "Forty-lashes, if you stay conscious through all of that, I will let you go." Amusement danced through her voice. "Count please." Connor whaled, when the first hit licked the skin of his upper left shoulder. "Count or we'll never get to forty." The demon "tsked."

"O-one,"

"Good,"

The woman assumed a firmer stance, more than determined to see if he'd make it to the forty without passing out. She started off slow, allotting his with enough time to scream and inhale before tiredly muttering the number. Though as time passed, her arm moved more rapidly until all he could do was scream. She kept counting in the back of her mind, thirty, thirty-one, two, three…. By the time, she reached Thirty-nine, she'd slowed back down, seeing if he'd kept count as well.

"Th-thirty seven…..Th-thirty-e-eight…..th-thirty-n-n…"

She stopped, watching his body go slack in his binds. "Such a valiant effort." She purred, letting him drop to the floor. "But you're mine."

Blood smeared everywhere as she moved his body through the halls. There was no need to be careful any longer, he was going where those who failed to escape were sentenced. Since Skips death, no one had be placed there, leaving a hole to be filled. She chuckled, at her silly thoughts, as she pushed him over the edge of the pit. Her will forced the boy safely to the ground and kept him in place.

"Goodnight sweet prince of darkness," she purred closing the door behind her.

Connor woke up in a panic, gasping for air as shocks of pain pulsed from his back. Questions coming too fast for him to fully grasp them. Everything knew was that he was in so much pain, and a quiet whoosh cut through his gasps. Moments past before he managed to slow his racing vitals. Panic wouldn't help him, not here, not now. His father, and his friends, would have noticed his disappearance by now and were no doubt searching for him. All he had to do was survive.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh the sound seemed deafening as he sat in silence contemplating his escape. He couldn't move thanks to the bindings he was placed. Whoosh. There were no stairs or ladders in the smooth walls of the pit he was placed. Whoosh. Connor cursed, despising the sound that reverberated all around him. What on earth could that sound be? He wondered hearing it four more times, before seeing it. Hanging from the ceiling was a Pendulum swaying back and forth in colossal strokes. With more gusto, Connor tore for his body to be released from its bindings. Cries erupting from his body without his consent.

"What kind of fucking place is this." He cried, his body screaming for this to be over.

Sobs bubbled from his lips, as he watched the pendulum move closer and closer to his open body. How fitting it seemed. Only months ago, he read, _The Pit and the Pendulum_ , by Edgar Allen Poe in class before his memories hit him, and now that's the death he was sentenced to. This was the screaming irony of life, the symbolism that told him exactly how death would sweep over his weary body.

"In other conditions of mind, I may have had to courage to end my misery at once by a plunge into one of these abysses; but now I was the veriest of cowards…" he recited, as tears streaked his face. "Neither could I forget what I had read of these pits—that sudden extinction of life formed no part of their most horrible of plan."

Faces of those he knew and loved flashed in his mind's eye, as he closed his for the last time. Though he'd never get the chance in person, Connor muttered goodbyes to each face that flashed by in a flurry of colors and shapes. Cordelia, Angel…... they were all accounted for, when the first slash of the pendulum cut along his height. Wails erupted through the room, his voice went raw before all went silent. Returning the dungeon to its previous state of silence.


End file.
